


Finding You

by Withstarryeyes



Series: Dad!Tony Stark [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Beating, Dad!Tony, Dad!Tony Stark, Gen, Hurt Peter, Hurt Peter Parker, Panic, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Unconsciousness, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 11:29:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11599722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Withstarryeyes/pseuds/Withstarryeyes
Summary: Tony's not used to coming home and finding crumpled, half-dead teenagers in his living room. But that's just today for you. He worries, the Avengers help and Peter goes to medical.(Suggested by the amazing scari_sari)





	Finding You

 

They turn a corner, bickering with each other about what they should order in for dinner when Tony notices Clint freeze. It’s barely perceptual, the slight pause and tensing of shoulders but it causes Tony’s blood to run cold. He moves to the front of the group, cutting off Steve to see Peter, _there,_ in his living room, in a pile. His mask is still on but he’s in an unnatural position, like someone dropped him there.

“Peter?” Tony’s voice is weak as he comes up on the teen, his hand shakes as he pokes Peter’s arm. “Peter?’ A little louder now, rolling him on his back and supporting his head. Peter’s arm lands on the ground, ragdoll.

Tony can’t see anything, can’t see anything past all the red and blue nylon. His mind imagines the worse, Peter gliding into the base through the window on a web. The web retreating back into his shooters and Peter collapsing, the one last mission on his mind done. Tony’s breathing halts for a few moments.

“He’s not waking up! Peter,” Tony’s chin wobbles. He feels a hand on his shoulder, it’s Natasha.

“C’mon Stark give Banner some room,” She says quietly, tugging on Tony’s arm.

“If you die, kid, If you die I’m going to the afterworld just to pull you out.” Peter doesn’t respond, he doesn’t laugh or glare or sulk. He’s limp and unmoving and Tony shudders, he remembers seeing Rhodey go down, not knowing if he would be okay. But at least Rhodey had the suit, had something to protect him. Peter just had his skin and  his muscles and his bones and his will of iron.

Nat tugs on his arm again and he relinquishes his grip on Peter, standing up and stumbling into Cap just a few feet away. His knees buckle and he’s on his hands, dry heaving.

“He’s going to be okay Tony,” Steve soothes.

“You don’t know that. In our field that’s never a guarantee,” Tony spits, standing up on wobbling legs and watches Peter being attended to by Bruce. They’ve got him in a neck brace and a backboard, an IV in each arm. His mask is off and Tony can see the whites of Peter’s eyes, peeking out from his not fully closed eyelids. There’s purple and blue and black mottling over the kid’s face and there’s definitely a break in his collarbone. The suit’s been cut down to the kid’s abdomen and Tony winces at the footmarks he can see in Peter’s side.

Tony watches, paralyzed as they load him onto stretcher,  barking orders and finding the fastest route through the new base. There’s a state of the art medical ward here, where Bruce can find nurses and surgeons and anything he needs.

There’s another hand on his back and Tony turns halfway, his gaze falling on Clint. The archer has his face pinned in a concerned expression. “If Coulson can come back from the dead, Peter can get through this. He’s a fighter.”

“So was I,” Tony says and Clint looks at him, one eyebrow arched. He can see the adrenaline running through Tony, the shaking hands, the staccato breaths. “I survived Afghanistan but I don’t know if I’d really call it living.”

Tony walks off and Clint eyes him warily, his shoulders slump. Maybe Cap was right, maybe Tony needed to see a doctor, maybe get on some meds. They’d all seen the creeping signs of PTSD in him. He was just praying Peter wouldn’t fall victim to the same thing.  

Peter wakes up to the smell of Tony’s cologne and a warm presence pressed into his thigh. Tony’s asleep, standing by the wall, his body slackly leaning against it, his head flopped back, perpendicular to the window. He’s snoring. Peter can see Aunt May’s black hair peeking out above his blanket. She’s asleep too, a hand curled into his sheets. She’s dressed in her work clothes, high heels discarded to the side. Peter nudges her and, when she doesn’t wake, pulls a pillow from behind him, placing it under her head. He takes the chair, carefully scooting it closer to his bedside so she’s more curled horizontally. He rubs his neck in sympathy for how she’ll feel in the morning. He carefully peels up his gown, the bruising around his chest has turned from an ugly black to a pale yellow, his vision has stopped being blurry and he can finally think clearly. His concussion is gone and he thinks by the morning he’ll be all healed.

He’s dead tired, his eyes are dropping as he watches Tony and May sleep. Tony’s in a half-rumpled suit, his hands in his pockets, his glasses on the floor. He wonders if they fought, wonders if they slung accusations through their tears, both grieving and wanting to blame the other. Peter sighs, knowing that Tony wouldn’t fight May. He’d take the blame full heartedly, he’ll bring it up in the morning.

But now? The peace was too nice to interrupt. There was something serene to listening to the hushed, soft breathing of loved ones. He felt heavy and warm and Peter tangled a hand in his Aunt’s hair before falling back asleep. He had a family, a complete one at that, and he was happy for the first time since his Dad left. The first time that he felt the chasm of a missing person in his chest. The first time since he was young.

Maybe everyone was right, high school would be the best four years of his life.

In the corner of the room, Tony peels an eye open at the rustle of Peter’s sheets. He’s awake, smiling lightly and nudging his Aunt. When she doesn’t respond, he puts a pillow under her head and makes her more comfortable. His eyes scan the room and Tony lets his face fall slack again, opening an eye in a few seconds  to see Peter’s chest. It’s mostly healed and Tony’s grateful  Peter doesn’t have to feel the pain of a dozen broken ribs and the internal bleeding that bloomed the bruising. Peter falls back asleep, one hand curled into his Aunt. He looks so young and Tony allows himself to smile, proud of the kid, proud of how far he’d come. He acted normal, a little bit young and a little bit concerned but Tony’s witnessed none of the nightmares that come after a trauma. The kid’s gonna spring back from this one like any other, no haunting remnant of a battle long lost. No whispering of what could have been and what did happen.

No, Tony thinks, Peter’s not like him, and for all it’s worth that’s a good thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked this part!! You know the drill, leave a comment or a kudos if you enjoyed and please feel free to drop any suggestions for future parts. 
> 
> Much love,  
> C


End file.
